


you can't just give it away/like it means nothing

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, i can't tag all of this, i'm a broken woman in a country on fire, look he just fucks pretty much everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We have all struggled to deal with the referendum. Apparently one of my methods is imagining Jenson's methods.</p><p>"This has got weird already, which is good because if he thinks too much about anything other than systematically screwing his way through every European driver in what he likes to think of as “the great British apology,” he’s going to do some sponsor-offending tweets."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can't just give it away/like it means nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This is comfortably the most relentlessly porny thing I've ever written so idk idk idk, I got bored of it sitting in my drafts so here it is.
> 
> Title is from 'Tidal Wave' by Sub Focus ft. Alpines, which is excellently unhinged ebullient nonsense if you're feeling so depressed by your garbage fire country that you're reading this.

“I believe you voted ‘Remain,’ Jenson. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to”

Jenson’s about 80% sure Stoffel must have some kind of submissive tendencies anyway but this is _clearly inviting_ a spank. Who says that to a handsome man about to give them some extremely skillful oral?

He slaps Stoff’s ass fairly gently, just to check.

The Belgian yelps quite adorably and blushes. Right then. Jenson gets up off his knees, sits back on the sofa and bundles his teammate over his lap. This has got weird already, which is good because if he thinks too much about anything _other_ than systematically screwing his way through every European driver in what he likes to think of as “the great British apology,” he’s going to do some sponsor-offending tweets.

Stoff is wriggling quite endearingly, in a combination of youthful embarrassment and what Jenson’s left thigh tells him is definitely arousal. He’s not going to get off on spanking the reserve driver’s ass until he’s begging for permission to come on Jenson’s knee  - he’s never been that into the whole S&M thing, bit much really - but it’s going to be _really cute._

\-----

Happily, Fernando is into no such complications. Jenson’s doing this for a reason, of course but he also just likes sex with the Spaniard, it’s always been easy.

They’re both a little shy, in odd ways, so it’s good to have someone joke with. Even if he does have to bend _a lot_ over to let ‘Nando fuck him across the classic F1 car, once a reasonable level of quiet has fallen over Goodwood. He thinks Jackie would approve, always been on about driver solidarity.

It really is good, though; his teammate knows what he’s doing and the car smells all diesel-y and hot, like it’s an extension of Fernando and the really great thing is they don’t have to pretend this is going to last very long because life is so very short and should have more orgasms.

“You like this, yes? I should fuck you in the garage,” Nando is breathless and sexy, his fingers pinching Jenson’s nipples because - argh, they’re like his Achilles sexheel, he’s going to come any second, “Maybe no with this car though, would kill the mood.”

Jenson grits out an agreement and then somehow, they’re both over the edge; truly, truly in it together.

\-----

Sebastian is by turns affectionate and a pain in the ass, even when he's not trying to get off, so it's not a massive surprise that both these things amplify when he's naked.

Jenson cornered him with the skill of someone who can overtake in a shit car, deliberately shirtless and with his thermals hanging lower than is technically comfortable. He might be older than Vettel but age brings wisdom and an awareness of exactly what people fancy about your hip musculature.

He wasn’t expecting anything other than to blow Seb- the man’s busy and they get along fine, Seb’s never been much for turning down sex but equally never been much for enthusiastically initiating anything.

So Jenson delivers one of his masterpieces of oral sex; he’s not spent 16 seasons in the world’s biggest sausage-fest not learning anything and now he can bring all that skill to diplomatic good use. Like James Bond with a well-controlled gag reflex. And he’s enormously pleased when Sebastian goes all weak-legged and slur-y afterwards, pulling Jenson back up for a cuddle.

He’s surprised when the German yanks down his thermals, gives him an adept hand-job that has Jenson panting a bit almost immediately while Seb lazily nuzzles at him.

When it’s done (and it’s been awhile since he’s got spunk on his race suit, very nostalgic) Sebastian gives him an apologetic half-hug, “Now I guess you have a country to match your power unit, hey?”

\-----

Kimi claps him on the shoulder and says there’s no need. Jenson had slightly suspected as much - they hadn’t had a dalliance since back when they’d both had long hair. Which had been delightful and a little period drama-esque and Jenson had very fond memories of it that he didn’t necessarily need to sully.

“Mweh, I saw you blow Seb - got myself off,” Kimi gives him a firm pat, “Sorry your country’s gone to fucking hell.”

Ok then, no time to think that through any further.

\-----

“You’re trying to fuck all the European drivers to make up for the referendum?” Jolyon looks a little ashen, which Jenson considers a total let-down for the ‘weirdly named British drivers making excellent life choices’ side he thought they could get going.

“Well, maybe not fuck, it depends on the situation. Look, I can’t stop them activating Article 50 or run for leader of a party, can I?”

Jo looks a bit helplessly flustered, “Do… do I have to?”

Oh god, he has to stop confusing the rookies, “No no, not at all, do whatever you need to do to deal with it. This was the best I came up with.”

Jenson watches a complex series of facial expressions flash across Jo, ending with a grimace and a collapse of his shoulders, “I signed an online petition and then drank a bottle of ouzo. I haven’t felt ok for a week.”

Jenson throws an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, “I don’t think any of us are going to feel ok ever again, mate. But I think Kevin fancies you, if that helps at all.”

“Really?” Jo looks so delightedly confused that Jenson has an awful flashback to 2008 and patiently explaining to Rosberg that the reason Lewis kept gazing at him was probably not because there was anything wrong with his hair.

“Look, I won’t go there, if you’d like to work on a little international unity,” Jo nods, slightly distractedly, as though he’s stopped thinking about Jenson even being in the room let alone talking to him. Ah, rookies, such an exciting time.

\----

Old Nico, as Jenson likes to think of him, accepts a blow job with such royal aplomb, detached and judgemental, that he almost expects a mark out of ten at the end. He’s a bit surprised to see Rosberg biting his own fist, when he looks up, looking almost distressed as he groans through the come-down. Which is quite insulting, as a grade; Jenson knows he’s rather good at this, thanks.

“Don’t- don’t tell Lewis.” Oh, of course. Maybe he should have let Hamilton take this one but Jenson wasn’t absolutely sure enough they were speaking to consider it a viable European unity strategy.

“Course not.” Nico relaxes a bit, brings his fist down to delicately wipe the saliva off on the expensive-looking sofa, fixing Jenson with his best Princess look again, as the Brit tries to edge out the door before anything gets any more awkward.

“He can’t do that with his tongue.”

\----

Young Nico just wants a beer and an obscenely handsy snog, which Jenson assumes is going somewhere but Hulk just keeps rutting against him, in a half-hidden doorway. It’s been a good two decades since he last came in his pants but the fact it’s so _full on_ and in public is doing something to him.

He doesn’t kiss many people his height, let alone slightly taller - it’s weirdly thrilling and making him feel a bit teenage, what with the way Hulk’s smirking against his mouth and teasingly playing with the waistband of Jenson’s underwear.

And yeah, ok, if that’s how big his dick is then maybe Jenson’s ok with them keeping it in their pants, for his ego’s sake.

\-----

Romain’s a pervert, everyone knows it. But he’s a high-class pervert and Jenson can kind of get on board with that - although he’s absolutely vetoed whips, crops, paddles and anything else that might make it difficult to sit in a car.

Silk ties, though, he has to admit, have some good qualities. Bit like when a girlfriend wears fancy underwear but ...without the girlfriend. He idly wonders if Jessica left anything at the house, before Romain mercifully -or not- distracts him with a feather tickler.

“You say it’s an apology but you come here, arrogant,” there’s a humor and affection in Romain’s voice that keeps him from freaking out, underneath the blindfold, “and you refuse to be flogged.”

The feather tickler drags across his nipples and he makes an uncharacteristic keening noise. He’s not used to being tied up, no matter how classily and the sensory deprivation is doing… things… to him that are a little like concentrating on a race, a little like the sing and burn in his body when he pushes through a triathlon. There’s a dim noise in his head, like he’s forgotten to wear ear protectors in the garage.

“I don’t,” the feather swipes across his ass in time to Romain's words, accent suddenly very heavy and Jenson hears himself whimper quite pathetically, “think you’re that sorry yet.”

He thinks he should probably stop this, that it may be going places he’s not 100% sure about his commitment to. But also he’s achingly hard and he really wants Romain to carry on.

The Frenchman does something, so the tickler is propped to just, slightly, touch Jenson’s cock. Not the tip and with zero pressure, even when he tries to lean forwards a bit into it. It’s agony and it’s tease and it’s great.

He’s so focussed on the tiny point of contact he doesn’t realise Romain’s moved away until he hears the unmistakable sounds of porn, of a cock being worked. Jesus.

“Don’t speak. I won’t let you come, if you speak.”

Jenson mewls helplessly.

\-----

Marcus is a great guy, once you get to know him. And Jenson considers ‘fucking him against the shower wall’ as a strong sign he’s fairly familiar with him.

He’s the toppiest bottom Jenson’s ever come across, almost vicious in the way he’s gripping Jenson’s arms, demanding that he fucks him harder and deeper and he _better fucking not come yet_ , which seems to be an emerging theme.

Ericsson tugs Jenson’s hair, “C’mon, seriously, _fuck me,_ or have you lost your edge here, too?”

Jenson knows he’s being goaded but he’s not about to take that standing up under a stream of warm water.

So he grabs hold of Marcus wrists, pins them to them tiles behind him with one hand, uses the other for balance to shift Marcus’ hips so the younger man has to wrap his legs completely around Jenson’s waist and _pounds_ him as hard as his training-conditioned, done-this-a-few-times-before body can manage. Which does the trick, Ericsson whimpering and shuddering like he’s trying to get out of his own burning skin and clenching almost unbearably tight around Jenson’s dick and ok yes, he loves all the actually nice, vanilla stuff and he kind of wishes his fellow drivers weren’t all a bunch of kinky bastards but also it feels raw and purgative and amazing.

Marcus growls at him to go deeper one last time and then they’re coming, with all the attendant mess and risk of leg-wobble that goes with it.

“Bit frustrated, eh?” Jenson can’t stop himself asking as he towels dry, a few minutes later.

“You’re telling me?” Marcus stretches luxuriously on the bench.

\-----

Pascal is awkwardly romantic and a little shy, wants Jenson to fuck him tenderly. Which is Jenson’s favourite type, honestly, so he’s having an absolutely smashing time until Wehrlein, extremely close, sobs out _‘Vati, bitte’_

What’s _happening_ to these young drivers?

\-----

He's going to hell. But the handcart's on the move and far be it for Jenson to refuse to join in on anything high speed. So he procrastinates and faffs around and finally heads to the Red Bull garage because he is just a man with his shredded dignity.

He waits until Max comes up to speak to him, an eyebrow already quizzically raised; “Look mate I don’t know if it’s the sort of thing you’re into but I’ve got this European unity project going on and you can absolutely opt-out and no one, least of all me, will hold it against you s-”

“I’m topping, yes?” Jenson doesn’t know why he didn’t expect it, little shit’s exactly like Sebastian but slightly scarier. And with a bigger dick, it turns out.

\-----

“What the fuck, man?” Jenson is briefly delighted because it’s been _ages_ since he got that reaction out of the younger driver, all huffy and outraged and in something approaching his old accent. Then he remembers what he’s doing, which is not _specifically_ annoying Lewis.

“What the fuck yourself. What are you doing here?”

“Is that not _a bit fucking obvious?_ ”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re going to give him sage life advice or braid his hair or something.”

“Well maybe _you are._ ” Lewis is bending down slightly, which means Jenson is bending down a lot, like somehow they’ll stay hidden so long as they’re hissing at each other like provincial bobbies.

“Who else have you got left?”

“Is Russia in Europe?” That wasn’t what Jenson expected.

“I mean, _politically_ no - and I definitely don’t think they need an apology.”

“Hmm,” Lewis looks a little disappointed - Jenson considers adding that it might just be a nice thing to do for Daniil but Lewis is ploughing on, fairly literally it would seem. “Seb, Kevin and like - what did you do about Verstappen? I don’t know if that’s ok.”

“Just blow him, it’s fine, you’re functionally a teenager anyway.”

“Hey!” Lewis straightens up out of his conspirator pose, Jenson pointedly doesn’t, to keep their heights even, “Anyway, what are we going to do about this?”

“Threesome?” Jenson’s not sure about his own suggestion but someone had to bring it up and they’ve clearly been covering some of the same territory, anyway.

Lewis ducks down again “Really?”

“Well,it’s all in the spirit of cooperation isn’t it?” Lewis looks a bit shocked, which is Jenson’s favourite result of any of their interactions, he’d forgotten he missed it. And yes, there it is - now he’s annoyed that Jenson’s laughing at him and will see this through with competitive aplomb.

“He's been really screwed over by this, I think he's upset,” he's never had to contemplate what Lewis might look like as a serious and responsible elder before. It’s slightly unnerving.

“Well then, he gets extra?” Jenson figures Sainz will actually decide if he wants any part of this but it _is_ a great idea. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Lewis’ dick before - and the thought of seeing him fuck Carlos, all loving and skillful, is extremely appealing.

“Ok, ok, fine. Don’t tell Nico.” That slightly harrowed, aggravated look is new - well, post-McLaren, at least. When he and Hamilton shared a garage they managed to (mostly) not kill each other with mind games.

“Shall we?” He pushes the motorhome door, just to test it.

When they’re standing outside again, three minutes later, both breathing slightly hard, Jenson finds himself putting a steadying hand on Lewis’ shoulder; “I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming, really.”

“No I think we definitely did see that,” Lewis looks sheepishly amused. “Man, I thought me and Nico were bad.”

Jenson hums a reply because he’s not even bothering to stop mentally replaying Kvyat and Sainz: mouths crushed together, hands in each other’s hair, sweaty and breathlessly moving together. He considers making a bad joke about allies and the failure of Europe but he can’t stop thinking about long eyelashes and contrasting skin tones and the unmistakable roll of Carlos’ hips. Even in the twilight of a darkened motorhome, there was no way they could miss Dany’s legs hooked around him, the close press of them onto and into each other, the way even the air in the room felt hot.

“I mean, in retrospect, what else does anyone use these for after dark?” Lewis is looking thoughtful but somewhat dishevelled, having removed his hat to run a hand through his curls, as though trying to bring himself back to reality, only to promptly remember this definitely _was_ reality.

Jenson hums again because - god. God. He shouldn’t be thinking they were like a younger, prettier version of him and ‘Nando because he was _way_ past the age for crippling erections in jeans. He really needed to stop the HD recall of the way their eyes were dark and blown, lips glistening, when they’d heard Lewis theatrically gasp and looked over.

“Was ‘whoops?’ really the best you could come up with? They’ll think we were looking for somewhere to fuck,” Lewis is rubbing his eyes in what looks like a serious effort to stop seeing it that’s probably doing precisely nothing.

“Well, to be fair, we were,” Jenson reasons because his brain has to latch onto some kind of certainties here and arguing with Lewis is not thinking about the smell of sweat and lube and enthusiastic, barely-muffled moans, about bodies tangled together on a settee, uncomfortably arranged in the way you only go for when you’re frantic and have potentially already fucked several times on the other surfa-.

“Not _each other._ ”

“We sort of were,” Jenson feels slightly affronted. He’s very nice to fuck, thank you. And just because he’d mainly been planning on making out with Carlos and wanking him off while Lewis screwed him didn’t mean he wasn’t part of it. Lewis gives him an apologetic pat on the waist, which is largely placating.

“Do you think they’re in love?” Lewis looks terribly young and old, simultaneously - worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and yet a little dreamy, like he hopes they are and also can’t bear it.

Jenson considers the question. The evidence (full-tongue kisses, what seemed to be pretty extended lovemaking, passionate affection and Daniil had been looking so much happier lately) pointed to ‘yes’ but he got the feeling that wasn’t what Lewis wanted him to say, so “They’re very young.”

It’s Lewis’ turn to hum and he looks so sad for a second that Jenson forgets himself and hugs him, which is awkward. Because now they’ve got their arms around each other. All nice and normal, for a hug between friends, if they weren’t definitely also engaged in the ancient sport of trouser-jousting. Shit.

“Look, I don’t know if y-”

“Maybe we cou-”

\-----

“Shameless. I thought he was with Nico?”

Dany shrugs at him, “They seem kind of depressed about it, though. Anyway, I heard Button was on some sort of mission to fuck everyone?”

Carlos curls under his shoulder, wrapping an arm round his waist. They’ll have to head back to the hotel in a minute but it’s nice getting a quiet moment before they have to recommence sneak-mode, even if sitting on the steps is slightly chilly. “We should lock the door. Bad to forget, could’ve been anyone.”

Dany shrugs again, “The worst have keys. Also no one would notice us right now - do you think they’re going to actually fuck on the grass?”

Carlos nuzzles closer, taking full advantage of an opportunity to be unreservedly affectionate, “I don’t know. I guess they can get away with this?”

“At least they won’t talk,” they’ve got a plan for when they’re caught - which is to fly somewhere obscure, book somewhere luxurious and fuck each other’s brains out for as long as they can manage, then deal with it. There seems to be no risk of having to activate it immediately, however, as they watch Button press an extremely enthusiastic Hamilton into the grass and pin his hands down. They’re going to leave knee marks in the mud, it’s kind of extraordinary.

“Why is he fucking everyone?”

“I don’t know, Kev told me. Apparently Hulk told Marcus and Kev checked with Seb. Something about Britain? But then why’s he fucking Hamilton?” Carlos is giggling while Dany muses, “What? Like you know why he’s doing it.”

“Oh no, no - not - oh my god, I think they were trying to fuck me?”

They sit in silence for awhile, the fact that they’re actually being quite voyeuristic slowly sinking in. But also getting a really good opportunity to observe how fiercely, tenderly Button fucks and how shamelessly giving Hamilton is.

“I don’t suppose you’re interested i-”

“Very. Yes. Right now.” Carlos grabs Dany’s hand and drags him through the door before anyone comes.

\-----

He and Lewis agree a schedule to avoid further location clash. And also to never speak to anyone of this ever again. And to sabotage that bit of turf. It’s actually all turning into a bit of an endeavour.

Exciting evenings aside, however, Jenson’s getting close to the end of the list. He’s not really any less upset but he has given some Europeans some excellent orgasms, so he feels like he’s at least done _something._ He’s not a miracle-worker, here.

Valterri is a tough one; despite being what he likes to think of as ‘the friendliest guy on the grid’ (although he thinks that adjective may have been swapped for a stronger one, recently) Jenson’s never actually spoken to the Finn, let alone made any successful romantic advances. What does he like? Is he the statistically necessary completely straight driver?

But he can’t stop thinking about the fact Lewis hadn’t listed him as a leftover and also the fact they seem to share a jumper. That would be such a stealth hookup - and Lewis never does stealth, except when he does. Which this could be. It’s messing with Jenson’s head, which is how he ends up completely busting open the agreement they’ve literally only just made about not talking to each other about sex. Ever.

_How did you fuck Valterri?_

_Missionary_

_You’re extremely helpful._

He resists the urge to distract himself by idly reading some news, because that’s the opposite of a good distraction from this mess. And now the thing he was using to distract himself from the news has become all stressful and it’s nearly over and he’s worried he’s dangerously close to having to think about things or develop a career-ending drinking problem.

_Don’t fuck Val. Ricciardo’s Commonwealth?_

Well, there are only 22 countries the UK doesn’t have a reason to apologise to, after all. And they’ve probably done _something_ to them.

\-----

“Question for Jenson and Lewis, what do you think will be the effect of the referendum on British motorsport?”

Jenson can _hear_ Sainz barely keeping control of himself, on the back row. He can probably claim it’s London-related anxiety but Jenson’s absolutely certain he’s _giggling._ Possibly with hysteria, of course.

“I don’t know, man, I mean, we live away from the UK a lot so I don’t know how much I can really speculate but… it’s definitely created a lot of uncertainties,” Jenson’s glad Lewis has unexpectedly stepped up to take the first shot.

“I think the main thing is to make sure that the drivers and teams work together to look at the future of the sport and where that ends up,” Carlos sounds like he’s choking and Jenson briefly wonders if he ought to turn round, just in case a Heimlich is required, “I think we all just need to be together” - Shit - “in this” -nailed it. And everyone else.


End file.
